


One for the History Books

by cametobuyplums



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Chubby bucky barnes, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Professor Bucky Barnes, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18643591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cametobuyplums/pseuds/cametobuyplums
Summary: 36 years old, divorced and soft around the middle. Bucky Barnes is your History professor. You’re just his student. Why ever would you want him?





	1. I/III

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RandomFandomPenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomFandomPenguin/gifts).



> Hello, loves. It's no secret I have a soft spot (or kink?) for Chubby!Bucky, particularly when he's an older man. This is based on a request I received on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy reading!

A favour to Peggy Carter. That’s what it is. That’s all it is. And yet, the slight squeak of the pen on the whiteboard is enough to stir a bout of nerves. Black letters that seem to glare at him. Professor James Buchanan Barnes. Perhaps the Buchanan is too much. A hand hastily wipes it off.

“Hello.”

A pretty voice and an even prettier smile. The kind of smile that has his heart racing. A stilling of time, blue eyes meeting yours and there’s a warmth that spreads over Bucky’s cheeks. You’re  _beautiful_. Dark jeans that cling to your contours. A cornflower blue shirt tucked in messily, the top two buttons undone revealing a simple gold necklace that nestles on your skin. All too aware that he’s staring, stuck in a stupor but helpless to do much else when you’re so  _pretty_. Amusement twinkles in your eyes. Eyes that drift over him and he can feel the blush that blankets his cheeks hotly.

Neatly pressed grey pants and a crisp white shirt. A cardigan he hopes conceals his rounded tummy. It’s been a little over a year since his divorce. With no-one to impress and a heart he’s been trying hard to guard, he’s let himself go a little. And now, he realises he’s  _conscious_. Worried you won’t find him as attractive he finds you and then he’s silently chiding himself. You’re a  _student_. He’s your  _professor_. He shouldn’t be thinking of you so. Not even if you’re looking at him as if you want to devour him whole.

“It’s nice to meet you, Professor Barnes.”

“You know who I am?” blushes Bucky, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

A smile of your own, amusement as you peer around him at the whiteboard. The whiteboard upon which he just wrote his name. Bucky blushes harder, cursing himself. A pretty young woman and he loses all sense of himself.

“Sorry,” he offers sheepishly. “Guess I’m just nervous. First day and all.”

“Don’t be,” you say gently. “I’m sure you’re going to be… amazing.”

Heat prickles at Bucky’s spine as your gaze roams over him, a cocktail of appreciation and lust swimming in your eyes and it’s so  _wrong_ , you’re his student, but  _God_ , does it make him feel good.  _Wanted_ , even. He’s given little time to dwell on the matter, class flooding in and it’s from the corner of his eye he notes you take a seat near the front.

An hour that passes all too quickly. Perhaps because he can feel your eyes on him. A display of keen interest and he’s at odds, telling himself you’re simply studious. And yet, no-one else smiles at him like  _that_. No-one else bites their lip the way you do. Heat rises under his collar. A sudden motivation to impress you. He smiles, talks amorously and puts on a show of confidence. It’s silly. As if you would ever be interested in your chubby, old History professor.

A quickening of his pulse when you approach him at the end of the lecture. Fingers gripping the little wooden podium. Your friends call your name and you brush them off. Bucky smiles nervously, heart thudding as he awaits your review. You tell him he was great and a family of butterflies blossom in his belly. A slight tilt of your head. It’s suggestive. Sends a thrill through him.

“I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

“Uh, how so?”

“I’m doing my dissertation on World War Two,” you smirk, an eyebrow cocked teasingly. “And you’re the expert, so that makes you my assigned tutor.”

Bucky’s helpless to the enormous smile that erupts on his face. Another drift of your eyes over him and this time, he does nothing to quash the shiver that races down his spine.

“If I can be so forward, I’m glad I get to work with you and not Professor Carter.”

“Why’s that?” asks Bucky, voice so low he barely recognises himself.

“I get the feeling that you’re very…  _passionate_.”

Three hours a week. Three hours that Bucky looks forward to more than anything. Three hours with  _you_. Each hour tests him just as equally as offering him a glimpse at who you are. An hour long lecture, your lips wrapped around the end of your pen. His concentration wavers every so often. Yours doesn’t. You always walk away with thorough notes. An hour long seminar, your thoughtful questions laced heavily with seduction that only  _he_ notices. A few occasions where minutes have passed as if you and him are the only ones discussing the subject you have in common.

Bucky’s personal favourite is the session you have booked with him every Monday afternoon to focus on your dissertation. An hour that Bucky has you all to himself. He somehow finds himself better dressed on those days. His office is tidier. A quick spray of cologne. It’s harmless. That’s his reasoning.

It’s harmless, how you both sit on the little couch, fingers brushing as you exchange papers, knees knocking together. It’s harmless, his arm draped around the back of the cushions and your head coming to rest on it. It’s harmless, your perfume dizzying him and your sultry giggles arousing him.

It’s harmless because Bucky is sure it will never transpire to more. Not simply because he’s your professor and you’re his student. Sure, conversation flows easily with you. Discussions of essay formatting smoothly evolving into shared jokes and anecdotes. But you’re young, smart, beautiful. You’re  _humouring_  him. Why ever would you want him? A thirty six year old man. Divorced. Soft around the middle. He’s not blind to the affections boys your age have for you. Thor, the big, burly blonde. An exchange student from Australia who more often than not has his muscly arm around your shoulders.

Even more so, it’s not just that you’re so out of his league. Bucky’s  _scared_. Unwilling to have his heart broken again. It’s been a little over a year since his divorce. Even longer since he’s been with a woman that wasn’t his wife. He’s yet to venture out into the dating world. Perhaps he doesn’t even want to. A combination of fear and self-consciousness, even a good measure of self-pity. No, it’s easier to remain alone.

Bucky shakes his head. Downing the last drop of whiskey in his glass. A motion at the bartender for another. Friday night finds him drinking alone. Music pounding in his ears. The faint trace of cigarette smoke whenever the door swings open. Stool creaking every time he shifts. A not unpleasant buzz from the couple of drinks he’s had. Eyes cast around the dim bar, he freezes, grip slackening on his glass but he catches it in time.

You. Perched on Thor’s lap at the table in the centre. Delicate fingers wrapped around a glass. Hair tousled perfectly and a cheeky smirk thrown at your friends. A short black skirt and low cut blouse. Strappy high heels and red lipstick.  _Fuck_. Bucky’s always thought you were pretty but right now, he’s gawking at how  _gorgeous_  you are. It’s teasing, showing off every contour of your body without being too revealing.

Bucky stirs in his jeans and  _shit_ , he quickly looks away. Heart racing furiously as he wills himself to calm down. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that. He clamps his eyes shut but it’s of no use. The image of you is burned into his memory.

“Professor Barnes?”

Bucky’s eyes flutter open. The sweet sound of your voice commands his attention. Red lips curved into a smile he swears you reserve just for him. His heart skips a beat.  _Fuck_ , you really are gorgeous. There’s a slight frown on your face as you question if he’s here alone. It’s not out of pity, more curiosity than anything else. You slide on to the stool beside him. A slight dip of your shoulder, a glance down your blouse and his cheeks are aflame.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” protests Bucky, as you wave your fingers at the bartender. “Really, your friends…”

“I’d rather have a drink with you first,” you smirk, pressing a shot of tequila into his palm. “Cheers.”

Bucky’s engulfed in a fog of lust and you. Shoulders relaxed and his leg pressed against your bare thigh. It feels so  _natural_ , sitting here in a dingy bar with you. A few flirtatious remarks of his own strewn into conversation. Your head thrown back as he makes you laugh and God, he loves being the reason behind your joy. Your hand wraps around his forearm. It’s almost innocent. Not enough though, a familiar shockwave of heat low in his stomach. It’s thick, the air around you and him. Heavy with sexual tension he’s sure you feel too. You’re so close, lips pouted as if in anticipation and his eyes are drawn to your mouth as he wonders what it must be like kissing you.

“There you are, babe.”

An icy cold wave of reality that washes over Bucky. The arm Thor throws over your shoulders knocking him out of his stupor. Thor’s gesture is not out of jealousy or possessiveness. The very thought that someone would be envious of  _you_  sharing drinks with  _Bucky_  is laughable.

“Barnes,” cries Thor cheerily. “How’s it going, mate? Er, Professor? Professor mate?”

Bucky chuckles at that. Thor is impossible not to like. A friendly, warm personality who doesn’t have a single bad bone in his body. A body that you’re now pressed against, hand splayed on a built chest, the muscle definition clear through the soft cotton t-shirt. A stab of gloom. Bucky doesn’t look like that. He hasn’t for a long time now. A giggle, Thor’s mouth on your ear as he whispers something with an impish grin.

“It was nice seeing you, Professor Barnes,” you smile, rising to your feet. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“Night,” nods Bucky, visibly deflating. “See you both on Monday.”

A final glass of whiskey that tastes of bitter disappointment. The decision to call it a night. Shoulders bumping, drunken chortles and he weaves through the throng of people on his path to the toilets. The music fainter here but all he can hear is your laugh. Feel the ghost of your fingers on his arm. All but consumed by you, he’s jerked from his thoughts by a quiet moan. Husky words met by a giggle.

Bucky’s head is screaming at him. Leave. Run.  _Anything_  and yet he can’t bring himself to do much but push the door open. Heart dropping into his stomach as he does. A hand pressed to the wall to steady yourself. The other wrapped around Thor’s nape. Your skirt bunched at your waist. Panties pushed aside. Your high heels dig into Thor’s tailbone and he growls, quickening his pace and it makes you whimper.

Bucky’s frozen, the door still half-open as he watches your lips part, a gasp falling and  _God_ , he wishes  _he_  was the man behind it, not  _Thor_. A desire to leave equally matched by one to drink in the pleasure etched on your face. Blood gushes in his ears, heart pounds erratically. Disappointment ebbing away and rapidly replaced by arousal. He hastens to leave. Stumbling his way home and desperately hoping no-one saw him.

Only, when the front door clicks shut and Bucky has his back pressed to the cold wood, he doesn’t feel any calmer. He’s still hot all over, jacket falling to the floor as his skin burns up under the erotic image of you coming undone. Jeans uncomfortable, the denim straining and he knows it’s  _wrong_. He knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help himself.

A hiss of relief as he wraps a hand around his cock. He’s so hard, precome beading at the tip already. The glide of his thumb, slick spreading down his length as he strokes himself, imagining it’s you all the while. Imagining it’s him in that dingy bathroom. His hands holding you up against the wall. A groan and his eyes flutter.

_Your nails bite into the skin of Bucky’s nape. Scratch his scalp as you claw desperately at his short hair. Soft mewls tumble from your lips, each one makes his cock throb._

_“Please,” you beg. “Please, Professor Barnes. Please, sir.”_

Bucky gasps, stroking himself faster. He can taste the tequila on your tongue. The salt on your skin.

_His fingers grasp at your hips, the bare skin of your thighs. Mouth trailing kisses down the velvety column of your neck. Hips rutting against yours. Rounded tummy dragging against the soft satin of your blouse as he fucks you. Your lipstick is smeared, a smudged mess and he feels a swell of pride knowing he’s the reason you look so wrecked._

_“Harder, sir,” your beg comes out as a shaky moan. “Fuck me harder.”_

A thud as Bucky’s head falls back against the front door. He’s so  _close_. Orgasm threatening to overwhelm him.

_He watches in awe as you come. Trembling as your walls flutter around his cock. His name a mindless chant you breathe out shakily. Eyes glassy as you meet his gaze._

_“I want you to fuck me, Professor Barnes. Fuck me until you come.”_

Bucky growls roughly. Breath catching and vision blackening as he spills on to his hand. Fantasy lingering for just a moment longer. Ragged breaths, short and shallow. Chest rising and falling with each one. Slumped against the door as his pulse evens out. He flushes with shame. But, it doesn’t last long. Not when he’s no longer able to deny just how deep his attraction for you runs. He’s at a loss. A story he’s told himself time and time again. He’s just your professor. Your chubby, old professor. What chance does he stand?


	2. Part II/III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut Warnings: dirty talk, oral sex, sir kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves. This was supposed to be two parts but somehow turned into three. Oops?

A weekend that passes in a blur. A haze of lucid thoughts that battle one another for dominance. Fantasy often triumphant over logical reasoning. Papers marked, lessons planned, even birthday gifts ordered months in advance. Their only purpose is to serve as a distraction. A distraction that’s of little success. Monday rolls around all too quickly for Bucky’s liking.

An attempt to ignore you as best he can. As he delivers a lecture on specifics about Nazi science divisions, his eyes dance around the hall. Few times do they stop on you, fearful he’ll give himself away if he catches your gaze. A silly prospect. You’re no mind reader. But Bucky can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes, not when he’s jerked off to a fantasy of you. He’s glanced at you enough to know you look pretty as always. A simple skirt, black leather. An off-white shirt that’s artistically rumpled, half-tucked into it. Black boots, too, and for one fleeting moment he imagines unzipping them as he trails kisses up your bare leg.

Face burning, Bucky stumbles over his words. Eyes flickering, he just about notes the sweet smile that adorns your face. His torment doesn’t end with the lecture. A further test after lunch with your customary dissertation meeting. Your lips are moving, he can see that much. But your voice is faint, the only sound he registers is the pounding of his heart. He hastily removes his glasses, wiping them with the hem of his blazer.

“Professor Barnes!”

A slight flinch. The bubble burst. You ask him if he’s alright and despite the concern in your voice, there’s a smirk on your face. It’s rife with mischief. Bucky gulps as he insists he’s fine.

“You seem… distracted, sir.”

“Sorry,” he apologises in a mumble, pink dusting his cheeks. “Didn’t realise it was that obvious.”

“It is, but that’s alright,” you say with a coy smile. “I was just wondering if you’re distracted for the same reason I am.”

An all too obvious shift in the air as it thickens. Heat rising and sparks flying. Body flushing as you smoothly drift closer. A thigh pressed against his. Shoulder sitting with his. Breasts brushing his chest. The raw desire between you too great to ignore. Your tongue darts out, running along the seam of your lips.

“I’m distracted by the thought of kissing you, sir. And I wonder if you’re thinking the same about me.”

Bucky’s stunned into a speechless stupor. His cock twitches when you address him as  _sir_. His eyes flit down to your lips because now, kissing you is  _all_  he can think about. He imagines your lips to be soft. You must taste so  _sweet_. He need only lean in, close the gap between you two.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, argument weak. “ _I_  shouldn’t.”

“No, we  _shouldn’t_ ,” you murmur in agreement. “But that doesn’t mean we  _can’t_.”

Your eyes search his and finding only unabashed need there, press your mouth to his. A gentle kiss that’s chaste and unassuming but it makes his eyes flutter and heart skip a beat all the same. He almost whines when you draw back.

A fight he’s losing. Protests that he’s your professor and you’re his student met with arguments of your own that you’re two consenting adults. An attraction that’s been building up to a staggering height over the course of the last few weeks. One that you no longer want to deny. Your voice is gentle but firm as you tell him you won’t force him. And yet, you  _want_  him. You want him  _desperately_. Doesn’t he want you, too?

“What about Thor?” he blurts, breath laboured. “Aren’t you two…”

“Thor?” you ask amusedly. “Thor and I hooked up once, that’s all.”

Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s certain you don’t know that he saw you both. He plans to keep it that way, for now at the very least. A slight tilt of your head to one side.

“And anyhow,” you say in a low voice. “I doubt Thor could ever make me feel as good as you.”

Butterflies bloom in Bucky’s belly. A small shred of disbelief because he still can’t quite believe  _you_  want  _him_. Glasses carefully placed on the table. It’s him this time, him that closes the gap. Lips brushing yours in a show of consent. It’s still  _wrong_ , but he feels a pull towards you. A quiet hum that has him buzzing with anticipation. Your lips slant against his to deepen your kiss. His hands tentatively find your waist and he sighs happily when your fingers curve over his shoulders.

Bucky’s never been so worked up just from  _kissing_  alone. Soft kisses that grow messy. Open-mouthed and wet. Your tongue flicking against his sinfully. He boldly strokes your hair, groaning when you nip at his bottom lip. He’s warm all over, mind babbling away to itself as he loses himself in your embrace. And then he’s panting, nerves aflutter as you drop to your knees, hands running up his thighs. The clink of his belt. His eyes blown wide because it’s  _dirty_  and  _pretty_  all at the same time, you on your knees before him.

“W-what are you doin’?” he chokes out.

“Relax, Professor Barnes, let me suck your cock.”

Bucky gasps something  _filthy_ , biting down on his fist when you leave a wet kiss at the tip of his cock. You run your tongue down his length, humming in delight and he almost loses it. Your mouth is heaven, hot and warm around him. His bottom lip tugged between his teeth, he bites back his groans. He’s so  _close_  so embarrassingly fast, ecstasy ebbing in with the way you bob your head, nose brushing the underside of his rounded tummy. Your eyes meet his, innocent as you please and it’s so  _hot_. You, his pretty, young student, your lips straining around his cock.

Bucky shouldn’t be so  _aroused_. He shouldn’t be cupping your face as you moan around his hard length. He shouldn’t be gasping when you pull off him, telling him to come in your mouth. It’s been so  _long_. So long since he’s been with a woman. He feels  _overwhelmed_. You cup his balls with one hand, squeezing and fondling as he hits the back of your throat and it’s too much. A hoarse whisper of your name is your only warning. His eyes clamp shut and he shudders, coming down your throat and  _God_ , he’s never come this  _hard_  before.

It’s electric, the way pleasure courses through him. He’s heady and lightheaded all at once, drowning in the sensation of your mouth. It’s like he’s floating and he lets himself be ravished by euphoria.

Awash with pleasure, Bucky melts into the couch. He whimpers as you lick him clean, trail kisses along his jawline. A weak smile is all he can afford at your giggle. His heart leaping at the adoring look you give him.

“You should come on Saturday night.” he hears himself say.

Your cheeky smirk and hiked eyebrow triggers a blush that creeps up his neck hotly.

“Not like that,” he stammers. “Not that I don’t want to do that. Oh God.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, carding your fingers through his hair. “I’d love to  _come_ on Saturday night. So long as you’re there.”

“I meant that I’d like to cook you dinner,” he clarifies, cheeks still red. “If you want, that is.”

 _It’s too risky taking you out. We could be seen by someone._  Words that remain unspoken but are exchanged nonetheless. A final kiss, slow and passionate. Bucky watches you with a goofy grin as you rise to your feet, scribbling your number on a corner of the whiteboard behind his desk. A seductive smile just for him.

“See you on Saturday night, Professor Barnes.”

“Bucky. My name’s Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://cametobuyplums.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [If you enjoy my writing please consider buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/cametobuyplums)


	3. Part III/III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves. I've had a great time writing this one. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy this final part.

A day normally reserved for rest and errands. A routine that consists of coffee brewed for enjoyment, not necessity. The television perpetually left on, flickering between sports, movies and National Geographic. A takeaway usually ordered, pizza mostly. Steve Rogers and Alpine the cat, the only real company Bucky has. Not today. 

Today, routine is abandoned. Nerves swirl and tension spikes. A thorough clean of the small apartment. Freshly laundered bedsheets. Alpine offended when he’s relocated from the adult magazine he’s comfortably snoozing on. A swift sweep of the supermarket. A creamy cod piccata bubbles away. A homemade tiramisu holds a place of pride in the refrigerator. A table set with candles. The perfect dinner date.

Bucky studies himself in the mirror. Fingers scratch through the stubble peppering his jaw as he wonders if he should have shaved. A little too late now. A second guess that snowballs. The sudden worry that his cologne is too strong. The concern that his sweater shows his soft tummy too much. The alarming prospect of you seeing him naked. Perhaps the box of condoms he bought was too presumptuous.

_Snap out of it, Barnes. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Get your shit together!_

A few deep breaths to steady his nerves. Bucky reminds himself he’s been looking forward to tonight all week. A date. A  _real_   _date_  with someone he  _likes_. A date with  _you_. Time unrestricted by your classroom relationship. It’s just you and him. Sex doesn’t even matter, he’s excited just to  _be_  with you. He’s excited that  _you_  want to be with  _him_. It’s an unholy combination of anxiety and anticipation.

The sharp trill of the buzzer and Bucky casts one last glance over himself. A final pep talk as he runs a hand through his hair. No sooner does he compose himself that he opens the door and the breath is snatched from his lungs. You look  _beautiful_. A black and white polka dot dress with a hem that flutters just above your knees. It wraps in the front, a classy v-neck capturing his attention briefly. Those strappy high heels that had him drooling that night in the bar.

The prettiest smile yet. It sparks his own as he invites you in, soft murmurs of hello shared as you step over the threshold. A bouquet of flowers you offer with a warm smile.

“These are for you.”

Bucky gapes, mouth opening and closing several times like a goldfish. The sweetness of your gesture is almost overwhelming, his heart swelling because you thought of him enough to buy him flowers. It’s not just a random bottle of cheap wine. It’s  _flowers_.

“No-one’s ever got me flowers before,” he smiles, absolutely thrilled. “Thank you.”

A kiss to your cheek. It’s a bold move for him but one he makes instinctively. He’s glad he does too, the smile on your face positively radiant. He loses himself in your eyes for a moment. Simply appreciating that you’re here with him. A slight furrow of your brows.

“Is that dinner I can smell?”

“Fuck!”

A near disaster. One Bucky avoids narrowly by the skin of his teeth. He’s quick to reassure you that all is well and he won’t need to embarrass himself by ordering a pizza. You giggle and bump his shoulder with yours, a teasing remark about how as a student, you’d be just fine with ordering pizza. Or pasta if he has it, you can cook a mean dish of pasta. He chuckles heartily, dipping his finger into the sauce. And then your hand wraps around his wrist. Jaw slack as you draw the digit into your mouth, sucking softly. A deliberate swirl of your tongue over his fingertip as you hold his gaze. A low hum. Bucky tries hard to switch his brain back on and not spill food everywhere as he plates up.

And despite your sultry show of seduction, Bucky learns there’s an easiness that comes with your company. There’s not so much as a hint of awkwardness. A compliment of his cooking skills, friendly questions about his week. All things he would expect from a first date (as it were) but your smile is so  _genuine_ , keen interest shining in your eyes. A glass of wine and Bucky feels relaxed. Warmth settling over his skin every time you laugh at his jokes or banter playfully. He’s only too happy to learn you watch Game of Thrones as avidly as he does; possess a penchant for reading on rainy days; and as any good student should, you know all the best places for pizza.

Dessert on the couch. You slip off your heels as Bucky tries to usher Alpine away, the feline making it quite clear he has no intention of moving. The strangest event, you coo and Alpine stops hissing as you lift him. A scratch under his chin and he purrs.

“How’d you do that?” asks Bucky dumbly, as you tuck your bare legs under yourself.

“Maybe he likes me more than you.” you wink, the great furry cat lounging on the coffee table now.

“Can’t argue with him there.”

“Does he normally have an aversion to your guests?” you ask, licking your spoon.

“You’re actually the first person I’ve ever had here.” he replies with a faint blush.

A pang, Bucky’s mortified. The realisation of how pathetic he must sound to you. He’s surprised by your lack of pity. A hand on his thigh that makes him tremble. He can feel his brain beginning to short circuit when you lean close.

“I feel honoured,” you whisper. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Can I kiss you now? I’ve been wanting to all week.”

“Yes, God,  _yes_.”

Bucky melts the moment you press your lips to his. Moaning into a kiss that makes his cock  _throb_  with want. There’s little of the hesitation either of you showed the first time. It’s urgent and frantic. Your hands a flurry as they roam his chest and soft tummy. His own glide over the delicate skin of your thighs, pulling you to straddle him. Bitter chocolate, sharp espresso, both mingle with the sweet taste of you.

Your kisses, they’re of unabashed need. Hard and insistent and Bucky’s never had someone so  _desperate_  for him. Tongue chasing his. Your smooth skin against his rough stubble. You suck at his bottom lip and a groan escapes Bucky. His mouth falls open but you only seem to like that more, claiming him with a fervent kiss. He’s drowning in pleasure. Heat spiking as you trail your lips along his jaw, tug his earlobe between your teeth, grind your hips down on his.

A sharp prickle snaps his eyes open. Bucky exhales through his nose. Alpine sits upright, whiskers guiltily dipped in remnants of the tiramisu as he watches beadily. Wet kisses scatter down Bucky’s neck before you turn to see what has him so distracted. Quiet laughter. Your eyes are half-lidded, voice dripping with sex.

“Bucky? Take me to bed.”

A gasp that tumbles from your lips as Bucky hoists you up, hands cupping your ass and your legs wrap tight around his waist. A few stumbles here and there. A giggle when he almost crashes you both into the doorframe. He struggles to think straight, cocooned in a bubble of arousal. You’re breathless already, whining wantonly as you deftly unbutton his jeans. Nerves threaten him as you tug his sweater off. The most adorably frustrated pout as you discover he’s wearing an undershirt.

Bucky’s body flushes under your gaze. A sudden bout of self-consciousness as he stands before you in just his underwear. But, then he sees the look in your eyes. Even in the dim glow of the lamp there’s no denying the  _wildness_  there. As if you want to devour him whole. It’s greedy, rife with lust and a moan catches in his throat.

“Get me out of this dress.”

Bucky obliges eagerly, fingers scrabbling between your body and his, his task taking longer than he’d like and all because you’re too enamoured with leaving heated kisses all over his bare chest. He chuckles lowly, grinning more to himself than you.

“Slow down,” he laughs, tugging your dress open. “We’ve got all night, sweetheart.”

Your whimper is so  _sinful_. His grin widens at the revelation you like him calling you  _sweetheart_. You comply, lips wet and swollen, parted to huff out small breaths as he takes a moment to drink in how gorgeous you look without your dress. Panties that are no more than a scrap of black lace. A lace bra that serves little purpose. Bucky almost comes in his underwear.

It’s sweet. You kiss him long and hard as he sheds you both of what few clothes remain. The heat that prickles his skin almost unbearable. He’s painfully hard, gasping aloud at the feel of your hand wrapped around him. A few slow strokes, thumb sweeping over the tip and he breaks your kiss.

“Wait, wait,” he breathes shakily. “Can I taste you, sweetheart? Let me make you come with my mouth. Please?”

Bucky all too easily commits the image to his memory forever. You sprawled across his bedsheets, skin glistening with want. He nudged your knees apart, a finger gliding through your wet folds as his sucks softly at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. He grows steadily dizzier. Driven by his want, raw lust coursing through his veins and guiding his mouth over your breasts and lower still.

Your fingers grasp at what they can of his short hair. Mewls and moans filling the air as he laps at your clit, circles his tongue over your dripping entrance, groans at how sweet you taste. A nip at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and he  _growls_ , your nails scratching his scalp. He pins your hips to the mattress, enraptured by the way you writhe under him, beg him for more and he’s not one to deny you of pleasure. You’re so  _wet_ , so wet because of  _him_. A mess of high-pitched whines as he sucks at your clit, curling his fingers as he slides them in and out of your heat. And  _God_ , you’re so  _pretty_  when you come apart, unravelling at the seams with his name on your lips. Lashes fluttering wildly and thighs trembling.

Bucky presses kisses into your hot skin. He works his way up, humming in appreciation as you come down from your high. A whimper from you as you taste yourself, arms looped around his neck as he finally brushes his lips over yours.

“ _Please_ ,” you beg, bucking your hips against his. “Please, Professor Barnes. Fuck me,  _sir_.”

A groan that Bucky can’t hold back. It’s deliberate on your part. A cheeky smirk and accompanying bite of your lip. The urgency returns, the sheer desperation to make you come again only this time, he wants you to come on his cock. He pants, yanking open the drawer for the box of condoms he stowed earlier. The time it takes him to rip open the plastic seal would be embarrassing if it weren’t for your fond expression.

A yelp and Bucky’s on his back. You straddle him, tearing open the packet with your teeth. He can feel himself leaking over his tummy. God, he’s going out of his mind with want. Your palms flat on his chest, the tip of his cock nudges your entrance. A split second of rational thinking that evaporates when you sink down his hard length. The prettiest gasp leaves your lips, head tilting back as you stretch around him. Shyly, somewhat, he places his hands on your waist. You take one in your own, an invitation to touch you all over.

It’s with worshipful awe that Bucky watches you ride him. Your hips rolling against his. His cock sliding in and out of you. The slight bounce of your breasts. Head thrown back. Hooded eyes darkened with desire. It shouldn’t feel this good, fucking his student. There’s a part of him that still can’t quite believe this is happening but then you cry out his name and  _fuck_ , this is real. A dreamlike haze swirls in your eyes.

“I want you to fuck me, Professor Barnes. I’m so close. I want you to fuck me until you come.”

A line straight from his fantasy. Bucky’s neither rough nor soft. A passionate harmony of the two. His fingers entwined with yours as he pins your hands to the sheets. You moan under him, soles of your feet digging into his ass as he drives you both closer and closer to the edge. He groans uncontrollably, his cock swelling every time your walls flutter around him. He can  _feel_  how close you are,  _see_  the pleasure etched on your face. He’s there on the brink with you, thrusting sloppily in an uneven rhythm but he won’t come, not until you do.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

The husky whisper is your undoing. A breathy gasp of his name. Bucky groans as your back arches off the bed, hardened nipples dragging against his soft middle and hot, silky walls clenching so tightly he crashes down into ecstasy with you. It’s so  _intense_ , sheer pleasure like he’s  _never_  felt before. Your name growled into the crook of your neck. Stars spiralling behind his closed eyes. Bliss that washes over him and he lets it consume him.

Bucky’s brought back to earth by your fingers running down his back. Soft hums and musical giggles that make him smile against your sweat slicked skin. You’re utterly  _wrecked_. Messy hair and a sated expression. Whimpering as he slowly pulls out of you. A kiss that leaves you both weak. He promises he’ll be right back, a warm washcloth and a glass of water in either hand.

Alpine’s slunk into the room in Bucky’s absence. A disgruntled meow as he’s shooed off the pillow. You giggle as Bucky tends to you, writhing and squirming as he blows a raspberry on your tummy. It’s silly and childish, but your gleeful smile is so worth it. A few stray laughs as Bucky pulls you into his arms, content for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Stay?” he asks quietly.

“Only if you spoon me.” you cheek, running a hand along his jawline.

Sleepy chuckles trickle through the air. Two sets of satisfied sighs when Bucky presses his chest to your back. You wriggle, your ass grinding back against him as you do. He groans and you giggle your way through an apology that indicates you’re not sorry at all. You insist you’re only trying to get comfortable. He tickles your side until you relent. And even though he’s terribly drowsy, he finds himself waiting until your breath is slow and even before he drifts off himself.

A peaceful night of slumber that turns into a morning of content. A few rays of sunshine seeping in through the gap in the curtains. Sunshine that woke Bucky up long ago but he’s been all too happy to lay beside you and watch you sleep. You lie on your front now. The dark blue sheets bunched around your waist. He fights the urge to leave kisses over the soft skin of your back. The corners of your lips are upturned, as if you’re smiling. And it’s just the most  _wonderful_ thing.

Quickly slipping into a t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs, Bucky slings Alpine over his shoulders and sets to work making you breakfast. It’s as he flips pancakes that adult logic begins to creep in. There’s no regret about the night prior. Without a shadow of a doubt, it’s one of the  _best_  dates he’s  _ever_  had. He likes being with you. He likes who you are and how he feels when he’s around you. But it doesn’t alter the fact that he’s still your professor and you’re still his student. If anybody found out…

Leaving the coffee to brew, Bucky treads back to the bedroom in time to see you sit up in bed. Fingers combing through your messy hair. It’s endearing. There’s a certain softness about you first thing in the morning and he doesn’t even think twice about kissing you.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” you echo with a big smile. “Mm, something smells good.”

“I made pancakes. Hope you’re hungry.”

And even as he says such ordinary words, his voice quivers anxiously. You pick up on it immediately, brows knitted together as you search his face for answers. Bucky hesitates. You wait. Bucky blurts out a garbled mess of words. A pathetic attempt to string them together into something more coherent.

_“I’m your professor. You’re my student.”_

_“If someone found out, we’d be in so much trouble.”_

_“I don’t wanna jeopardise your future.”_

_“Do you really like me? I’m just your chubby, old, divorced History professor.”_

“Bucky,” you urge, clambering into his lap. “ _Breathe_. Look at me.”

Bucky’s breathless but for all the wrong reasons. He tries to steady his heart as you card your fingers through his hair soothingly. It’s absurd. Absurd because he knows the rules are in place to protect people. Absurd because the rules are equally stupid and he can’t  _bear_  the thought of them keeping you apart. Even  _more_  absurd because you’re so young and intelligent and beautiful and he’s suddenly worried that he’s imagining how you feel about him.

A genuinity in your smile. Nothing but care and chasteness in the kiss you capture his lips with. Hands settling on his shoulders. You’re full of reassurances that you know the risks. Just as he doesn’t want to jeopardise your future, you don’t want to jeopardise his career. You only have a few months left until graduation. You can be careful, take precautions, keep a secret. If he’s serious about this then so are you. It’s all good and well but Bucky’s still not convinced that you like him as much as he thinks.

“I like you,” you admit. “I like you a  _lot_. I thought you were handsome the moment I met you. Haven’t I made that obvious enough?”

“But, that night at the bar when you and Thor…”

Bucky trails off. It dawns on him what he’s just confessed to and his whole face goes up in flames.  _Shit_. A lump forms in his throat and he wishes the bed would open up and swallow him whole. He’s unsure of what to make when you bite your lip.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring that up.”

“W-what?”

“Honestly, I was hoping you’d act sooner but when you didn’t, I had to take matters into my own hands.”

Bucky leans back a little, mouth slack with shock.  _You did that on purpose._  His brain is racing with a million thoughts. Jigsaw pieces that are taking too long to find their place.

“I want to be with you,” you say firmly. “And I’ll remind you of it every day if I have to. I know we’re risking a lot, but I think you’re worth it.”

Bucky’s brain promptly shuts down as you slide his t-shirt off. Skin flushing with heat. He leans forward, expecting a searing kiss but you giggle and stand, pulling the t-shirt on and glancing at him flirtatiously over your shoulder.

“Come on, didn’t you say something about pancakes?”

“I still can’t believe you did that on purpose.” he mumbles dumbly, fishing around for another t-shirt.

Bucky gasps when you press your body to his. A seductive gleam in your eyes.

“I guess I’ve been a bad girl,  _Professor_   _Barnes_. Maybe on Monday you’ll just have to punish me. Bend me over your desk and spank me,  _sir_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://cametobuyplums.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [If you enjoy my writing please consider buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/cametobuyplums)


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